The Happy Family eBook

“Looks plain enough to me,” Pink answered.
“Uh course, it’s funny Blink should be
the man, and be setting there listening—­”

“Yes, but darn it all, Pink, there’s a
funnier side to it than that, and it’s near
driving me crazy trying to figure it out. Yuh
needn’t tell anybody, Pink, but it’s like
this: I was just merely and simply romancing
when I told that there blood-curdling tale! I
never was south uh the Wyoming line except when I
was riding in a circus and toured through, and that’s
the truth. I never was down in the San Simon
basin. I never set on no pinnacle with no field
glasses—­” Andy stopped short his
labored confession to gaze, with deep disgust, upon
Pink’s convulsed figure. “Well,”
he snapped, settling back on the pillow, “laugh,
darn yuh! and show your ignorance! By gracious,
I wish I could see the joke!” He reached
up gingerly and readjusted the bandage on his head,
eyed Pink sourly a moment, and with a grunt eloquent
of the mood he was in turned his face to the wall.

* * * *
*

MISS MARTIN’S MISSION

When Andy Green, fresh-combed and shining with soap
and towel polish, walked into the dining-room of the
Dry Lake Hotel, he felt not the slightest premonition
of what was about to befall. His chief sensation
was the hunger which comes of early rising and of many
hours spent in the open, and beyond that he was hoping
that the Chinaman cook had made some meat-pie, like
he had the week before. His eyes, searching unobtrusively
the long table bearing the unmistakable signs of many
other hungry men gone before—­for Andy was
late—­failed to warn him. He pulled
out his chair and sat down, still looking for meat-pie.

“Good after_noon!_” cried an eager, feminine
voice just across the table.

Andy started guiltily. He had been dimly aware
that some one was sitting there, but, being occupied
with other things, had not given a thought to the
sitter, or a glance. Now he did both while he
said good afternoon with perfunctory politeness.

“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it?
so invigorating, like rare, old wine!”

Andy assented somewhat dubiously; it had never just
struck him that way; he thought fleetingly that perhaps
it was because he had never come across any rare,
old wine. He ventured another glance. She
was not young, and she wore glasses, behind which
twinkled very bright eyes of a shade of brown.
She had unpleasantly regular hair waves on her temples,
and underneath the waves showed streaks of gray.
Also, she wore a black silk waist, and somebody’s
picture made into a brooch at her throat. Further,
Andy dared not observe. It was enough for one
glance. He looked again for the much-desired meat-pie.

The strange lady ingratiatingly passed him the bread.
“You’re a cowboy, aren’t you?”
was the disconcerting question that accompanied the
bread.